


Summer

by sadreel-trash (mind_and_malady)



Series: Seasons [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Pre-Slash, but gad is clearly crushing ultra hard on sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 10:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mind_and_malady/pseuds/sadreel-trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In some universe where things are great and no one died, there's a hot, dry summer in Kansas, and the boys pass time the best way they know how - alcohol and fighting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Sadreel just blew into my life and set everything on fire. Like, EVERYTHING. I needed to write something for them that wasn't plotty or painful and so without any editing whatsoever you get boys and their dumb angel boyfriends

The summer sun burns down on them, hot and dry. Heat waves radiate from the concrete pavement, and insects are swarming in the air, creating an indistinct buzzing in the background.

Castiel hands Gadreel a bottle of beer, which he takes curiously, noting the condensation that perspirates from the bottle, cold for another ten minutes before the sun forces it to evaporate and the drink to grow warm. They’re standing side by side, the door to the bunker a good dozen or so yards behind them, a cooler to Castiel’s left.

In front of them, Sam and Dean are sparing. Ducking, kicking, punches flying. Bruises bloom under well-delivered hits, both of them gasping with exertion. Dean manages to get Sam on the ground beneath him, and for a moment, his victory seems assured, but Sam bares his teeth and raises a leg to kick him in the back and roll them, and the fight commences again.

It’s not honorable fighting. They aren’t bound by laws of combat or fighting styles. They fight with instinct and training and experience, bits and pieces of different styles. They know each other so well, have fought side by side for so long that their understanding of how the other fights is bone-deep. It's a close fight - they're equally matched, Dean's greater strength balanced by Sam's speed. Gadreel sees Dean anticipate a punch to the ribs and block it without thinking, but Sam lands a solid kick to his knee that brings him down.

Dean lifts both hands to either side of his head, and Sam steps back, grinning as they both pant for breath. The older flops over onto the grass, laughing, pushing his brother away when he nudges him with a foot.

Castiel smiles at Gadreel, picks up another beer, and starts walking toward the brothers as Sam walks towards the cooler. Sam intentionally bumps into Cas as he walks past, a friendly little bump, and Castiel’s smile grows a little wider. Sam comes closer, and Gadreel keeps his eyes on their brothers, both of them sitting in the tall grass now as Dean sits up to accept the beer, propped up on one arm.

Sam rummages through the cooler and pulls out a beer before collapsing in the grass, back leaning against the cooler. He tilts his head up, squinting against the sun, and offers Gadreel a grin. His face is flushed with exertion and victory, his smile bright. Gadreel can see his soul, beautiful and so holy that he wants to shy away from this man - this _saint_ \- but he refuses too, out of fear of forcing that brightness to dim.

Sam pats the ground beside him, and Gadreel sits down, slowly relaxing. Their shoulders brush as Sam pops the lid on his beer, tilts his head back and takes a drink with a long sigh.

The hunter’s eyes come to rest on the bottle in Gadreel’s hands, then flicker up to his face, curious. “Have you ever had alcohol before?” he asks, smile still sitting on his mouth like he's forgotten about it.

“I have not,” Gadreel shakes his head. Sam’s smile grows even wider, and he barks out a laugh, sitting up. His eyes are glinting with amusement, rich and deep, and Gadreel hands over the bottle when he asks for it.

“Here,” he says, easily popping the top before handing it back. “Have at it.”

Gadreel quirks an eyebrow. “It takes more than a beer for an angel to get drunk, Sam,” he remarks.

Sam laughs again, head lolling back against the lid of the cooler, exposing the long column of his throat. Gadreel smiles faintly to himself, forces his eyes away from the sight of him, glorious and high on adrenaline, and takes a swallow of the beer.

He expects the burn and swallows roughly, making a face. “I’m not sure why this is enjoyable for you,” he says, frowning at the bottle, and Sam snickers, rubbing a hand over his face.

“The more you drink, the better it gets,” Sam says, by way of explanation.

Gadreel hums a little, and takes another drink, takes a moment to analyze the bitter, cloying taste, the sharp bite of the alcohol enhanced by spice and the chill of it. “I was referring to watching me drink, but I do see your point,” he says.

Sam’s eyes skip away from him, towards Castiel and Dean. “I’m not sure,” he muses. “It’s sort of hard to imagine how you act drunk. It’s hard to imagine any angel acting drunk, really.”

Gadreel follows his gaze. “I have a feeling you have seen drunk angels before,” he remarks.

Oddly, Sam grimaces. “Once. But that was during the Apocalypse, and being drunk then was pretty much guaranteed to be depressing. So I’ve never seen an angel get drunk for the hell of it.”

“I’m not sure I would enjoy it,” he says, and Sam shakes his head, smiling again, soft and relaxed.

“Probably not,” he agrees.

They lapse into silence, scant inches between them, warmed by the sun as it hovers high in the sky. It’s calm and easy, and Gadreel watches as Sam’s eyes slip shut, dozing off. His head lolls to the side, and the rest of his body follows with a low sigh, leaning against the sentry’s arm.

Gadreel takes a few careful breaths, and when Sam remains asleep, he carefully tucks the man’s hair behind his ear, out of his face. Then he settles himself a little more comfortably on the ground, head tilted back to watch the occasional cloud pass by, one wing wrapped around the hunter at his side in thoughtless protection.

He can feel Castiel’s eyes on him, hear the murmur of indistinct words between him and Dean. He tries to ignore them, but as soon as they stand, his stomach starts twisting into knots. Gadreel knows he isn’t doing anything wrong, not really, but he knows that they might protest anyway, out of worry for Sam.

When they were just a couple yards away, he takes a deep breath, forces himself to be ready to accept whatever they tell him - and is thrown swiftly off balance when Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand and separates, moving inside the bunker. Instead, Castiel approaches by himself, but doesn’t really seem interested in staying or talking, body angled towards Dean’s back.

Castiel extends a wing, and Gadreel returns the gesture, wings brushing on a plane well beyond human comprehension. The younger angel casts a knowing glance at Sam, withdrawing the wing with a small smile. “They’re easy to love, aren’t they?” he muses.

Gadreel can’t help but agree. “They are. But we seem to have preferences.”

Castiel nods. “True. And I don’t think it will take Sam half as long as it took Dean to understand that, either.”

Gadreel shifts a little, looking away. “Brother-”

“It’s alright, Gadreel,” Castiel says, amused. “I understand. Just...take care with him, like you already do, and everything will be fine.”

“Thank you,” Gadreel breathes, relieved. Castiel smiles at him, and their wings brush again as he moves back inside.

They don’t spend as much time outside as Gadreel would have liked. After only half an hour, Gadreel feels Sam waking up, his whole body drawing closer at first, face burrowing into the sentry’s shoulder, soul reaching for grace, but then his eyes blink open and he slowly sits up. Sam rubs at his face, and Gadreel tries not to be disappointed at the lack of contact.

“Sorry,” Sam mumbles. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

Gadreel offers up a tiny smile. “It’s alright, Sam. I...did not mind.”

“Either way,” Sam shrugs, but he’s smiling now. He rolls his shoulders, and pushes himself to his feet. “I’m gonna head inside before I get a sunburn. You coming?”

When he nods, Sam holds out a hand, and when Gadreel takes it, Sam pulls him to his feet. Sam picks up one end of the cooler, and Gadreel takes the other side without being asked, and they walk back to the bunker, the sun warm at their backs and the wind cool on their faces.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know how my Gadreel characterization is, please? I've never written him before.


End file.
